


2 v 1

by StarlightOnInk



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Nationverse, Romance, RusAme, Space Gays, aph scarf, scarf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 20:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11539731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightOnInk/pseuds/StarlightOnInk
Summary: It's the snowball fight of the ages. On one team we have America, and on the other we have Russia and his scarf! Based on the prompt "snowball fight" for the RusAme Holiday Event.





	2 v 1

**2 v 1**

Winter’s chill had long since settled across the landscape, coating everything in a blanket of glistening white. Such pristine surfaces were undisturbed, muffling all sound to a respectful silence, the kind of quiet that amasses as the world shelters down for the end of another year. Everyone knows that the cold will bring a kind of closure of its own, and most withdraw into their homes to wait it out.

While others embrace it.

Deep gauges formed in the otherwise smooth coating of snow as the two opponents darted about. Cheeks and noses red, their breaths came out in billowing puffs as they panted.

A snowball burst into a cloud of white as it collided with a tree Russia had taken shelter behind. America grunted in frustration. As far as he was concerned, he was already at a disadvantage, going against “someone half-yeti,” but a few choice teases from Russia had been enough to silence most of his complaints. He didn’t want it believed he, Alfred F. Jones, couldn’t handle the challenge. And so they had engaged in a battle of wills, a test of their resourcefulness and endurance.

Russia had been on the retreat for most off their snowball fight, skillfully dodging, darting, ducking, leaping, and- worst of all- laughing. Under normal circumstances, America would have taken it as a sign of impending victory, except Russia was proving just so hard to catch. Snow reached as high as their knees in some places, yet he waded through it like punching through tissue paper. America tried to compensate with a strategy of excess aggression, scrambling hurriedly after the retreating man, but it was as if Russia had a second sense for his movements.

Which he probably did, the sneak.

“Ha!” America cried, hurling a snowball with all his might at Russia’s head poking out from behind the tree. Their eyes met for a second before at last he hit his target, and Russia quickly withdrew back behind his hideout. America whooped victoriously, readying another. “Not so unbeatable now, huh?” he called, taking slow steps towards the tree. “What’s the matter? A little snow in your face making it hard to battle? I’ll go easy on you, don’t worry, babe.”

One final step, and he rounded the corner.

Only to see the very imposing sight of Russia beaming down at him, both hands clutching sizable snowballs; the ends of his scarf were also raised, curled of their own accord to cradle more snowy projectiles ready to be thrown.

America’s throwing arm wavered for but a moment, and though Russia had already begun firing, America let out a war cry and charged forward, flinging his solitary snowball and scraping up whatever else he could to hit Russia with. The cold stung his face and creeped down the collar of his coat as each of Russia’s shots found their mark, but the real victory went to America in the brief look of surprise Russia wore right before America leaped forward and tackled him to the ground.

“Oof!” Russia grunted, the wind knocked right out of him. Snow chilled the back of his neck, seeped through the fabric of his clothes. America smiled down, blue eyes looking even more vibrant against the grey sky and landscape around them.

“Hands where I can see ‘em,” America drawled, scooping up some snow and packing it into a ball, ready to use it if he was not obeyed.

Something in Russia’s eyes flashed mischievous violet, but he raised his gloved hands in a sign of surrender. America’s smile grew, became far too satisfied. He leaned down, cold breath spilling over Russia’s reddened cheeks. “I’ll be taking my victory kiss now,” he murmured, close enough now that Russia could count the freckles on the bridge of his nose.

Russia pursed his lips, nodding. “I suppose you will,” he agreed, shifting slightly, as if to meet America halfway.

America smiled.

Russia struck.

The tail ends of his scarf, which had been subtly gathering more snow, smashed their chilly projectiles into America’s face, dislodging his glasses and sprinkling him with glistening cold.

“No fair!” America squawked, backing away immediately. “You have an extra set of arms!” He made to wipe his face clean, only to shudder violently as his frigid gloves made contact with his face.

“I warned you you would not win.” Russia sat up, plucking America’s glasses from the ground. Tugging off one of his own gloves with his teeth, Russia brushed away the remaining snow from America’s face. His lips were quickly warmed with a kiss. America pouted; Russia was charmed. He was the definitive winner that day.

THE END


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